A post on Preachrblog reminded me of this composition by a friend, the Rev. Steven Hein.* He grants permission to copy.

One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen;
Saw footprints of my Lord galore,
But mine were not along the shore.

But then did stranger prints appear.
I asked the Lord, "What have we here?
Those prints are large and round and neat,
But Lord, they are too big for feet."

"My child," said He in somber tone,
"My footprints do you see alone
Where you My promise did believe,
And victories you did receive.

"But when you struggled in My arm,
To live out your own righteous charm,
In your own pow'r you sought to strut,
Well, there I dropped you on your butt.

"As Christian daughter, Christian son,
'Tis true you have a race to run.
That race is only truly won,
When in My arms the work is done.

"When times do come to rise and fight,
To risk the loss, to do the right,
On Christ's strong arms you take your stand,
Or, leave your buttprints in the sand."

Actually, is it possible to parody kitsch?

*Poem was originally attributed to the Rev. Robert Schaibley, from whom this aardvark first received a copy. As noted in the comments, Bob's compatriot Steve Hein actually composed Buttprints and gives permission for its dissemination.

It is my creation gentlemen . . . done,however, in the presence of my colleague Robert Schaibley, in our joint office in Colorado Springs some 17 years ago. Dr. Steven Hein. My desire was to turn the prints that really are left in the sand - according to the Theology of the Cross (and the bruises).